


Nightmares

by A_Ghost_Called_Boo



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Nonbinary Party Poison (Danger Days), One Shot, POV Second Person, Swearing, Underage Smoking, blood mention, generally bad mental health bullshittery, kinda a bit at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24507382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Ghost_Called_Boo/pseuds/A_Ghost_Called_Boo
Summary: Ghoul's (not so) epic quest of trying to distract himself from a bad nightmare
Relationships: Fun Ghoul & Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	Nightmares

You wake up with a start, jolting up from your seat and hitting your head hard on a shelf, which sends some of the trinkets haphazardly placed close to the edge tumbling down to the floor. Using the table to steady yourself, you take in laboured breaths as you desperately try to ignore the hot white burning behind your eyelids that you belatedly realise is because you’ve left on the lamp on your desk. With a click the room is plunged back into the safety of darkness, as you shakily take a few steps behind you almost tripping over your chair, before catching yourself on its back at the last moment.

The old office chair groans as you sit down bringing your knees to your chest and resting your head on top. It was just a nightmare and you know it, but the images refuse to go away, flashing through your mind like the world’s shittiest slasher movie with such clarity that you start to wonder if it’s not some sort of weird backwards memory instead. The possibility makes you sick to the stomach and you push yourself back on your feet as you amble back over to your desk and begin rummaging through the random bits and bobs strewn across it.

First thing you find is your lighter tucked all the way in the back of a drawer, which you suspect is Jet’s doing since Kobra would’ve stolen it and Poison...well, you doubt they would’ve been in the workshop in the first place. Unsurprisingly, the pack of cigarettes you stole off the red-haired killjoy isn’t where you left it, but instead you find the faded packet on the floor next to the foot of the table. When you pop the lid open you come to the grim realisation that you’ve ran out of smokes and will probably have to get one off the others. 

With a sigh you sluggishly make your way out of the workshop, finding that your screws got knocked off the shelf when you step on a cluster of them and almost fall to the ground because of it. The rest of your walk is thankfully free of any other accidents and you swing the old refrigerator room door open all the way, letting the little light that filtered through the windows and into the old defunct kitchen area reach into your workshop. The temperature dropped enough to raise little goosebumps on your skin as you look around for where your friends must’ve left their jackets.

You find them eventually along with their owners, drowned in the sea of blankets, pillows and the odd clothing item, all pushed in one of the corners of the room, serving as a common sleeping area. Jet is snoring softly with an arm wrapped around Kobra’s chest and arms to keep him from hurting himself in his sleep and the two are covered with roughly three different worn-out blankets just short of covering their legs. They look peaceful and after the day you’ve all had you decide against risking to wake them up with your terrible thief skills and even worse luck.

That only leaves you with one option, so you grab a random jacket off one of the racks pushed against the wall and shrug it on over your vest before tip-toeing into the main diner area and out the front doors. If there was any chance you could’ve gone back inside and slept left, the cold desert air shattered it like a brick through a window as you hug your jacket tightly around you and start making your way around the outside of the Diner. The denim doesn’t help much, but when you’re finally faced with the old broken ladder and the dumpster pushed against the wall to allow access to it, it’s like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on you.

For once your luck looks up, but in all the wrong ways as you can make out a human-shaped silhouette with bright red hair sitting on the edge of the overhang, legs dangling over the sand below. Gripping the metal ladder tightly, you feel like you've somehow returned to the first time you met, only this time they almost appear softer in the moonlight, which you chalk up to the fact that you actually kinda know them this time around. Or, at the very least, know they won’t bite off your head if you dare speak to them and that has to make-do.

Realising your death grip onto the poor metal rungs, you take the few final steps and walk onto the roof of the main building, clearing your throat loudly to announce your presence.

“What?” Poison barks, making you flinch, though you both seem to silently agree not to bring it up.

“‘M outta smokes.” you offer them an awkward half-shrug, keeping your answer as short as possible.

"Then leech off one'a the others." the older waves a hand dismissively, signaling the conversation is over.

You frown, “I would if i could, Pois, but they sleepin’ an’ we both know they need the rest.” 

For a moment you swear their gaze softens, but it’s gone in the blink of an eye and you brush it off as your tired mind making something out of nothing again.

They seem conflicted for a moment before they take out a rectangular-shaped object from their pocket and mumble “One.” while holding it out in your direction. You nod and make your way over them as quickly as you can while being mindful of the ledge where the overhang and rooftop meet, so you don’t trip over it and make a total fool out of yourself in front of the leader. As promised, they pull out one cigarette, handing it to you, which you take thankfully and turn around to leave, but a hand snakes around your wrist and stops you. The red-haired killjoy fixes you with their gaze until you sigh in resignation and sit down on the edge of the hollow roof, but they don't release you until they're sure you won't try to run, which you suppose is fair. 

You've maybe had a grand total of ten interactions in the past two months and still they seem to see right through you just like the rest of them. You're not sure how you feel about that yet...

The two of you smoke in silence for a while, the only thing between you being the smoke slowly dissipating into the night sky, before Poison speaks up, "You're up 'coz of the clap, aren't you?"

"No." you answer too quickly, giving yourself away before you can even lie. You groan and rub your eyes tiredly, but that turns out to be a bad move as the image of a familiar curly-haired killjoys laying in a pool of blood flashes in the dark of your eyelids. You don't even know if someone can even  _ have _ that much blood- not that you want to know either, on second thoughts.

"I am." Poison continues talking and you try to focus on them instead. Somehow your lighter ended in their hand as they dangle an unlit cigarette in their mouth. The light hit them at an angle that made it seem like they were nothing more than an apparition and maybe you would've reached out and tested it, but this is Poison and your feet are swinging precariously off the edge of the roof and you  _ really _ don't want to test whether or not you'll break a leg if you were to fall from up there.

"Never can shake the feeling that something bad 's gonna happen, y'know." they say as they throw you your lighter back and you barely catch it before it knocks out a tooth or two. "I thought it was gonna get better now that i know where Kobra is, but somehow it's worse."

"Yeah...don' get me wrong, he's smart as hell, but he's such a dumbass sumtimes." you pause and drop the cigarette butt in the sand bellow. Someone is going to give you grief for it tomorrow, but for now you just couldn’t care less if you tried. "Guess that's why we get 'long so well." you shrug and try to leave again. This time you get further than last time, but Poison tugs you back down again.

"Stay. It's nicer to talk to someone than to the moon." they insist and you can't do anything, but obey because honestly, the last thing you want right now is to be alone with your thoughts.

"'M pretty sure moon's a better conversation part'ner than i am." you sigh as you take your seat again.

"You'd be surprised." Poison shrugs, shifting where they sit to stretch out their back.

“Oh? Talk to ‘er often?” you tease jokingly, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them and you want to punch yourself in the face for being so stupid.

“Hey, gotta tell someone all the dumb shit you do, right?” they roll their eyes unfazed, a small smile tugging at the corners of their mouth as they flick the butt of their own cigar into the air to land in the sand below with yours. They take out the box again, pulling out two cigars and offering one to you that you take since you know better than to argue.

"Why are ya' doin' this?" you ask eventually, when the silence between the two of you becomes too much to handle.

“Doin’ what?” they frown, looking genuinely confused by the question.

“Bein’ nice.” you clarify with a shrug and advert your eyes to the ground trying to spot the discarded cigarette butts.

They seem to really think about it before they respond, “Well, you’re Kobra’s friend and one of my crew members, sooo...” they trail off with a gesture to signify that the rest was self-explanatory and for the first time ever you wish they didn’t stop talking right then.

“Yeah...yeah, ya’ right. ‘T was a dumb question. I...um, i’ll go now.” you crush the cigarette with your boot this time, getting rid of of its existence until there’s nothing left behind but another black stain on the ledge. Sometimes you wish you could do that to yourself, but you doubt you’d turn into anything but dust in the wind anyways. 

_ Nothing but destruction _ , your thoughts cackle cruelly and you try to ignore the tear prickling at the corners of your eyes as you turn away. You take four steps before the feeling of being watched gets unbearable and you turn around only to be met with the stare of the other killjoy, wearing a pensive expression. They stand tall, the moonlight framing them in a way that reminds you of the tall black cats you’ve seen in pre-war illustrations back in the Lobby, save for the menacing glow in their eyes which you’re thankful for.

“Why are you really here?” they ask and from the tone of their voice you can tell they won’t let it go until they get the truth. You’re stubborn, though.

“Told ya’. Needed a smoke, saw i was out, didn’ wanna wake the others, saw ya’ were missin’ and came up ‘ere.” you give them the winded-out version of your original answer.

“Destroya, sometimes i really wonder if you’re as stupid as you sound.” the older groans and you open your mouth to make some snappy comment about how you aren’t stupid, but the words catch in you throat.

Whatever mystical air Poison had before dissipated into the wind, the moon’s cold silver glow weighting them down as they slouched with their head hanging in their hands. They looked tired, more tired than any 18 year old should look or feel, and you belatedly realise that it’s because of you. It’s  _ your fault _ .  _ You  _ did this to them. Maybe not directly and maybe not on purpose, but you’re part of the cause and the guilt hits you in the gut like a solid right hook.

The realisation makes your knees give out and even if you catch yourself before you can get a mouthful of concrete, it  _ hurts _ . Your palms hurt, your chest hurts, your  _ head  _ hurts from banging it on that stupid shelf in the workshop and you want nothing more than to cry and scream out for someone who was never there and never would be no matter how loud your voice is, so you settle on the former. Curling into a ball, you hug your knees to your chest in hopes that maybe if you make yourself small enough you’d simply disappear.

It doesn’t work and Poison has to fight their way to untangle the mess of limbs before carefully balancing you over their shoulder. You hate it- how they can just  _ do  _ that. How all of them can do that. You’re just so small and skinny, even more so than the others, and you hate it because it makes you feel so small when everything is so  _ big _ and  _ terrifying _ . It makes you feel like a child and you hate that too because you’re  _ 16  _ and basically an adult by Zone standard.

Tears stream down your face and onto the red haired killjoy’s jacket, leaving behind icy trails as you quietly sob, not even noticing you aren’t outside anymore until they gently set you down in the rat’s nest of blankets and pillows. Even in the Diner’s poor lighting you can see the frown on their face as they wipe away your tears with their thumb. They look concerned and that only makes you want to cry harder.

“Get some sleep.” they mumble quietly, but you catch onto their sleeve before they can leave.

“Not unless you do too.” you try to put on a serious face, even though you can feel your bottom lip quivering.

Poison pauses and you can almost see the fight going on in their brain before they plop down next to you with a sigh. You hear shuffling and before you even have time to turn and see what they’re doing they’re pushing you on your back, the familiar feeling of a leather jacket between you.

“Sleep.” they instruct and for once you comply without an argument.

  
The next morning you wake up sandwiched between Jet and Kobra and the leader nowhere in sight, the only proof of last night being the blue jacket clutched to your chest. As you drift back to sleep you allow yourself to think that maybe- just  _ maybe _ \- they don’t hate you as much as you thought they did and if they don’t...well, maybe then your nightmare will remain just that. A nightmare.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: i was up editing this thing until 4am because the draft was too angsty and i didn't like the wording, so this is like...45% rewritten.
> 
> Anyways, lemme know what you think in the comments or come yell at me on tumblr _[@dead-silxence](https://dead-silxnce.tumblr.com/)_


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